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The One That Got Away free porn video
Something’s different: the bed is harder, the pillows lumpier. In place of my soft cotton duvet, woollen blankets scratch my skin and there’s warmth on my face. Even before I open my eyes, I’m aware of bright light and frown against the glare. I try to recall if I’d forgotten to draw my blackout blind or left the light on when I went to bed.
I stretch, rub my eyes. Blinking, I focus on yellow sunflower wallpaper. The prominent flowers match the painted furniture, yellow gloss gleaming in the sunlight streaming through thin orange curtains. River Phoenix’s sultry eyes gaze at me from a huge black and white poster while beside him, Keano Reeves grins in full technicolour. What the hell? I gape at the posters, the clutter of toiletries on the vanity, the bookcase stuffed with multi-coloured notebooks and revision guides. Oh my God… can’t be.
This is my childhood bedroom.
I pinch my arm. Red marks blossom on the skin but they’re no proof of reality. This has to be a dream. I scan around, bemused yet fascinated. It’s amazing, exactly as I remember, the presence of hairspray, makeup, and jewellery denoting this as my teenage domain. But it isn’t real – can’t be real. I’m forty-nine years old and live in a rented flat with god-awful beige walls.
Curious, I tentatively peep in the vanity mirror.
“Christ…”
I touch my face. The skin is soft, luminous; gone are the dark bags beneath my eyes and crow’s feet at their corners. My lips are full and red, my nose appearing smaller against a face that still retains a childish plumpness. I run fingers through my hair, separating dark brown locks from streaks of blonde. I ruffle it, loving how thick and soft it feels. The style is shorter than I’ve had in years and I guess I’m still growing out the short back and sides with long flicked fringe I sported for most of the eighties.
So what year is this? Nineteen-eighty-eight? Eighty-nine?
Noises downstairs startle me and a voice calls, “Beth? Are you getting up?”
I know that voice, I’d recognise it anywhere and oh… it’s so vivid.
“Yes, Mum. I’ll be down in a minute,” I answer, catching my breath. “Wait…”
Rushing out of the door, I peer down the stairs but my mother’s already disappearing into the living room. She walks tall, no sign of a limp, and her hair’s dark. Dazed, I return to my room and ransack the yellow wardrobe in search of clothes. It’s already hot so I choose a pair of cut-off jeans and lightweight purple T-shirt. Underwear’s in the bottom drawer of the vanity.
I dress in front of the mirror. I recall having a good figure but to see it, feel the tightness of my skin, the smoothness of my flat belly, is strange indeed. I run hands over cellulite-free thighs and firm boobs. Did I really look like this at eighteen or is my mind playing tricks? Either way, I’m mesmerised.
The wide belt attached to the jeans suggests the fashion is to tuck in the T-shirt and I’m busy doing that when I hear the doorbell.
“That’ll be Jez,” Mum shouts. “D’you want me to let him in?”
Jez? Oh my… “Yes, please.”
I pinch myself again and slap my cheeks. No difference. Still feels real. Still can’t be. Jez… I never thought I’d see him again. I try recalling him as he was when we were dating but all I see is his twenty-nineteen profile picture on Facebook. I looked him up in a drunken stupor the day my divorce was finalised, thinking of him, at the time, as my lost soulmate, ‘the one that got away.’ A silly notion. I’m sure he never thought of me so fondly. He was instantly recognisable, still a handsome devil. Grey hair suited him and he looked fit and healthy.
“Beth?”
“Coming.”
Jez was listed on Facebook as single and looking through his posts, it was evident he was divorced. That, unfortunately, was all we had in common. He hadn’t pursued his dream to become a doctor, had never travelled further than Spain, as far as I could tell, and he’d never moved from our tiny hometown – all things we’d spent hours discussing, planning. Things I’d done. Disappointed, I never looked him up again.
And now, staring at my young face in the mirror, I don’t know how I feel about seeing him again. Excited? Scared? Confused – definitely confused.
I dive into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Come on, wake up. The thought of facing Jez again fills me with trepidation so now would be a good time for this dream to end. I splash on more water but nothing happens. Damn it. I’ll have to be brave. I clean my teeth with tissue, not chancing that I’ll pick the right toothbrush from the three in the holder, then draw a deep breath. Here goes…
Jez is loitering at the bottom of the stairs. He smiles and fixes me with soft hazel eyes. Wow! I remember those eyes, that smile, and the way he tilts his head sideways when he’s about to speak.
“Hey. You okay?”
My heart does a little jolt as I nod. My throat tightens.
“Good.”
He pulls me into an embrace and firmly kisses me on my lips. His kiss feels strange but lovely, too. My pulse surges and I actually go weak at the knees. I gaze into his eyes – so beautiful – then touch his face, eyeing his carefully coiffured dark hair with the blond fringe I remember bleaching with the remains of my streaking kit. I was in love with him once and, incredibly, those feelings come flooding back. My cheeks are hot, my breathing shallow. Teenage hormones. I’d forgotten about them.
“Beth?”
“What?” I ask dreamily.
“We should go.” He eases me away. “Are you really okay? You seem…”
“I’m fine. Overslept,” I say awkwardly.
“Sleepless night? Me too. To be honest, I’m not—”
The living room door opens and Mum appears with Dad at her side. “Are you off?” Mum asks. “Don’t keep us in suspense, will you?”
I stare at Dad while she’s talking, struck by how little he’s changed. Quite remarkable.
“Promise you’ll phone.”
“Phone?”
“Yes. We want to know.”
“Know what?”
“Oh, honestly,” Mum rolls her eyes. “Your results, dear. Don’t tease.”
I gasp, drawing stares. It’s that day? Of course, I remember now… it’s ‘A’ Level results day: August nineteen-eighty-nine. Shit! Poor Jez, no wonder he didn’t sleep. I look at his face, his beautiful smile, and guilt ties my stomach in knots as I recall how the day ended.
“Beth, it’s getting late.” Jez takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Yes, right. Just need to find my shoes.”
“Here.” Mum fishes a pair of trainers from the under-the-stairs cupboard.
“Thanks. Okay then.” I grab a handbag that’s hanging over the stair post. It looks familiar and, as Mum says nothing, I assume it’s mine. “Let’s go.”
I walk to school on autopilot, the route so deeply ingrained in my mind, I could walk it blindfolded. Jez strolls beside me, our fingers entwined. He seems preoccupied and, aware of the gaps in my memory, I’m happy to keep conversation to a minimum.
He slides his arms around me as we approach the school.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“No. You?”
“Very.”
He’s taller than I remember and muscular, his well-defined biceps peeping from the rolled-up sleeves of his white T-shirt. Biting his lower lip, he wipes clammy palms on his jeans. Funny, I don’t remember him being so worried. Is this an inaccuracy? A fabrication? The day is playing out as I remember it, but I can’t have memorized every detail.
Jez stops short of the school gates. He looks pale. “I messed up the exams. I really did.”
“Shh… you don’t know that. Try not to worry.”
I smile reassuringly then quickly look away, scared he’ll see the lie. He did mess up. Badly. Then again, this is all a dream. Things might be different this time. I pray they are.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get this done.”
With Jez in tow, I weave through the crowded main entrance and join the queue outside the Headmaster’s office. When my turn comes, I try to act surprised when the slip of paper in the envelope I’m handed gives the same results as last time. Complete déjà vu. I stare at the Headmaster a little too long as he congratulates me then, blushing, make my exit.
Jez’s next to go in. While he’s gone, I study the faces around me: people I didn’t stay in contact with, thought I’d never see again. I remember them all – the nerds in shirts and ties, the Madonna look-alike ‘it’ girls, and black-clothed Goths with purple locks and makeup applied with a trowel. I want to talk to them, get reacquainted, but the office door flies open and Jez rushes out, head lowered.
“Jez?”
He doesn’t stop but I follow him to the school field, where he sits, his envelope scrunched in his hands. Kneeling beside him, I rest my head on his shoulder
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“Yeah, me too.” He sniffs and swipes at tears. “What about you?” he asks more brightly.
“Straight As.”
“Oh, wow. Well done. You got in.”
“I did.”
“I didn’t. In case you hadn’t guessed. And I’m not going to re-sit if you were about to say that.” Pursing his lips, Jez stands and helps me up. “Where’s everyone going?”
“The Druid Inn,” I say, drawing on memory. “But we don’t have to go.”
“Oh? Don’t you want to celebrate?”
He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand and, looking into his eyes, I struggle for words. How can I explain? How can I tell him that I remember we went to the pub, remember him congratulating everyone and buying drinks? He’d smiled, partied, and I ignored the fact he’d just had his dreams snatched away. He must have been crying inside and I barely spoke to him. I celebrated my victory, my triumph, and got so caught up in the celebrations, I didn’t even notice when he left.
I always regretted that drunken afternoon. I was selfish, stupid. I knew our relationship was unlikely to last the separation of university, but my actions that day meant we parted on bad terms.
Now, I step in front of him. “I don’t want to go.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’d rather spend time with you.”
“You will. I’ll be there.”
“Just you.”
Jez snorts. “I might not be good company.”
“Rubbish. You’re always good company.” I hold his gaze. “Don’t worry about them—” I nod at our friends, “they’ll be too drunk to miss us. Is your Mum home?”
“No.”
“Do you have alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“Then why go to the pub? Celebrate, commiserate, whatever you want, with me. Please?”
I take his hand and urge him to follow. When he does, I inwardly rejoice. Yes! The pattern is broken and I’m no longer reliving events exactly as they happened. I can change the dream, control it. A weight is lifted from my shoulders as I’m freed from guilt’s chains.
The way to Jez’s house is as familiar as the one to school. We pass my old primary school, the café that gave me my first Saturday job, my favourite bookshop - fond memories, all. A red phone box reminds me to call my parents but my handbag contains a five-pound note, no coins. Just as well. I can’t remember if phone boxes take ten or twenty pence pieces in nineteen eighty-nine. And I’ve forgotten how to use one.
“Phone from my house,” Jez offers.
He’s calmer now, though uncharacteristically quiet if memory serves.
The sun beats down as we turn up his street. His house is at the far end and I take a moment to reminisce. I remember this house so clearly and all the good times spent here. Jez unlocks and leads me in. The kitchen’s black and white tiles and oak veneer units jog memories of meals eaten across the breakfast bar and dancing to trashy pop on the radio after too many beers.
“Drink?” Jez holds aloft a bottle of Malibu.
“I’d better make that phone call first.”
“Good move. Help yourself.”
The cream rotary dial phone’s on the coffee table in the living room. I balance on the arm of the sofa as I make the call. It tickles me to hear the purr of the dialling tone and click of the dial as it spins - little things from yesteryear that no longer exist. My mother answers.
“Well?”
“All A’s.”
“Fantastic, well done. I thought as much when the university phoned to confirm your place. You’ve got a room in halls, too.”
“That’s great.” It’s déjà vu again only not quite. I had the same conversation thirty-one years ago, but from the pub, not here. Jez hands me a glass, ice clinking. “Got to go, Mum. Bye.”
“All good?”
I give him a thumbs-up. “You going to phone your mum?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll tell her in person.” Jez removes his T-shirt. “I’m sweaty, sorry. I’ll find a new shirt in a minute.”
“No rush,” I say, grinning.
“Oh yeah? You want me topless?”
I arch an eyebrow. Of course, I want him topless. Those muscles, smooth skin…Strange to think that at eighteen, Jez and I cuddled in bed fully clothed. I can’t think why. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him – I longed to touch him, feel him. Make love to him. My gaze follows him as he sets up his boom-box, kicking off a ninety-minute mixtape of old favourites: The Smiths, The Sugarcubes, Transvision Vamp. He moves to the music and, watching him, I can’t believe I didn’t have sex with him.
I guess I wasn’t ready. Taking that step was a big deal for a virgin whose parents were absolutely against sex before marriage. It took moving away from home to finally free me from inhibitions and I lost my virginity at the end of an all-day Christmas pub crawl during my first year at university. A drunken fumble I barely remember, with a boy I hardly knew. Not how I’d imagined my ‘first time’. I often wondered how different it would have been with Jez.
I sip my drink and eye his pecs, a delightful shiver running through me. Well, why don’t I find out? This may be a dream but it certainly feels real and the idea of his muscular body on top of me, lips crushed against mine, hard cock thrusting… Ooh, yes. Could I?
“I’ll get that T-shirt,” says Jez, putting down his drink.
I quickly grasp his arm. “No need. I prefer you stripped.” I flutter my eyelashes to which Jez frowns.
“What’s got into you?”
Too much? Reclining on the sofa, I pout and sigh, deciding honesty is the best policy. “I’m feeling horny. I’m ready to have sex and I want to do it with you.”
Jez tenses. “Seriously? What about your parents? They’ll kill me.”
“They won’t know. Besides, I’m eighteen, I can do as I please.”
Moving swiftly toward him, I drape my arms around his neck and kiss him. I sigh when he reciprocates, arms around me, his body pressing against mine. Oh, he wants me, too. His impressive erection digs into my abdomen. Fires stoked, I ease a hand inside his jeans.
“Christ, careful.” He sucks air through his teeth. “I’m not used to this, remember?”
“Relax,” I curl my fingers around his shaft, “go with the flow. I want to be close to you, make love to you. But there’s no rush,” I say, withdrawing my hand. “If you’re not ready—”
“I didn’t say that.”
Smirking, he unbuckles his belt and pops the fly on his jeans. The tip of his cock peeps out from black silk boxers.
Silk? Little beggar, he was hoping… and he’s in luck. God damn, I’m horny. I want to yank his jeans down, kneel at his feet and slip his cock into my mouth. I want to taste him, suck him, hear his groans as he fucks my face.
Stop it, you can’t, I remind myself. I’m supposed to be a naive virgin - what would he think? Mustering my willpower – and it requires a lot – I leave his cock alone. I clutch his hand instead and lead him upstairs toward his bedroom, a room I recall as painted dark blue and unnaturally tidy for a teenage boy.
I pause in the doorway. Yes, I remember… HMV-bought film posters cover his walls: Blade Runner, The Terminator, Aliens, A Nightmare on Elm Street – films long gone from the cinema but firm favourites for Jez’s Friday night video marathons. I wonder if he’ll be surprised that they’re still popular three decades later?
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“Oh yes, positive.”
“That’s music to my ears.”
I smile at his awkwardness and suppress a giggle when he lifts my T-shirt over my head and fumbles with my bra.
“How the heck do you… hang on, I got it. Oh my…”
He stares at my breasts, mouth agape. Then he stoops, sucking a pert nipple into his mouth. Shivers run through me and I close my eyes, loving the sensations. Jez moves on to the second breast but, impatient, I ease him away. Scraping off my trainers, I hastily unbuckle and shimmy out of my shorts. I remove my cotton knickers, wriggling my hips.
“Oh, Beth.” Jez caresses my curves, gaze wandering. “You’re gorgeous.”
“And you’re overdressed.”
“Yes…sorry.” He grapples with his trainers and jeans, his rock-hard cock springing free of his boxers like a pardoned prisoner bolting from the dock. “Okay?”
I stand back to admire him. He’s more than okay. His body is toned without being bulky, his skin tanned from the long hot summer. And his cock… it’s curved and beautifully thick. Too thick? I remember I’m a virgin. I may struggle to accommodate a cock that large.
“I’ll be gentle,” says Jez, reading my expression. “If you want to stop, just say.”
“I won’t.”
“You might.”
I won’t. Wild horses can’t stop me fucking this beautiful boy. Hormones going crazy, I pull him close and kiss him, crushing my mouth against his. Our bodies collide, skin against skin, his cock trapped between us. “I want you so much.” My juices are flowing and I place his hand on my slit to show him.
“Oh, yes, you’re so wet.”
To my delight, he fingers me, gently rubbing my clit exactly how I like it. Not bad for a beginner.
“One second…” He races from the room leaving me gaping after him. He returns moments later clutching a beach towel. “In case of mess, you know? First time.”
“Good thinking.” I don’t remember much about losing my virginity but I recall there was some blood. I watch him flip back his duvet, fold the towel in half, and spread it over the mattress.
“And I think I’d better do this now,” he says, shaking a box of condoms he’s retrieved from the nightstand.
So, I’m not going to get much in the way of foreplay. Never mind. I’m as eager as him. I watch him tear the packet and carefully roll the condom along his shaft. He’s so hard; I can see the veins throbbing. Lying back on the bed, I part my thighs. I quiver when Jez hovers over me and kisses me hard. He fingers me, one digit probing my slick pussy. Oh, yes… I contract around him, feeling full. Full from one finger? Breathing steadily, I try to relax and when he adds a second finger, it slides in easier than I expected. Ohh…
“God, you feel good.” Jez kisses my neck, nibbling gently. “I love you, Beth.”
What? The world stops turning, I can’t breathe, his words powering through me like a drug. Head spinning, I clutch Jez’s back as he slowly penetrates me. “Oh, God…”
It’s pure bliss. My pussy is stretched for the first time, the discomfort far outweighed by the pleasure of intimacy. Withdrawing, Jez thrusts again, careful not to push deep.
“You still okay?” he whispers.
“Fuck yes. Keep going.”
His consideration startles me, I’ve never had sex with anyone this conscious of me. My shit of an ex-husband certainly wasn’t. Jez gets into a rhythm, cautious at first, then more forceful. Relaxed now, I raise my hips to meet his thrusts, deepening the pleasure. The bed creaks, the headboard slams against the wall, every thrust enhancing my lusty delirium.
“Oh, Jez, yes!”
I wonder if I might be able to roll over, switch to cowgirl, but Jez tenses.
“Sorry,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His body jolts and he plunges deep, emptying his seed into the condom. “So sorry, I couldn’t…”
“It’s okay,” I say as he carefully withdraws and collapses beside me. “It was wonderful.”
I stroke his face, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. His gaze meets mine and we lie, panting, grinning at each other without speaking. Then he kisses me gently and wraps me in his arms.
“Any regrets?” he asks.
“No. None. You?”
“No.” He pulls the condom from his wilting cock and gently touches my inner thigh. “Blood. Just a bit.”
I bite my lip. So, I was a virgin again. How bizarre. “Do you mind if we cuddle before we clean up?” I ask, snuggling against him.
“Not at all.”
He holds me tight and I feel safe in his arms. Loved. Dream, hallucination – whatever this is, it’s wonderful.
“Jez,” I say softly, “for what it’s worth, I think you should re-sit. If you’re serious about medicine, what’s another year? And don’t tell me you’re not capable of getting the grades. You said yourself, you messed up the exams. The exams, Jez. You know the work.”
“I’ll just fuck them up again.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He shrugs.
“Just think about it, please?”
He draws a sharp breath.
“Promise me?”
“Okay, I promise.” He kisses my forehead then stretches and rolls from the bed. “Mum’ll be back at around four. She’ll want to talk.”
“She will.” I moisten my lips. “Use cold water for the towel.”
“Sorry?”
“Cold water when you rinse the towel, not hot. Cold removes blood.”
“Ah,” he smiles, “got you. Thanks.”
I want to pull him back onto the bed, hold him and kiss him all over again. But the moment has passed.
I insist on walking home alone and take a long route back to my parent’s house. I need some time to process events and hard-wire them into my memory for when I finally wake. I want to remember today this way, cherish it as if it were real.
I walk down the high street looking at shops that no longer exist, pubs that have closed. The White Lion is packed; strange when I know it’ll be bulldozed within two years, flats built in its place. The Druid Inn’s heaving and, for a moment, I consider going in to have a drink with my old school friends. But they’re playing Rick Astley, very loudly, and that sways my decision. I walk on.
Back home, my parents tell me tales of their university lives and what they did. It’s great to see them so animated, really lovely, but my concentration drifts. Jez is dominating my thoughts. I want to talk to him or get a text, an email – anything. I desperately miss my mobile phone and the solitary family telephone remains stubbornly silent. And I can’t phone him. Try as I might, I can’t remember Jez’s number and his family are ex-directory. Frustrated, I search my room but fail to find an address book or phone list of any kind. Damn it!
It’s gone nine when the phone rings.
“Beth, it’s Jez.”
My heart pounds. I race downstairs. “Hello?”
“Just a quick call, hope you don’t mind. I wanted to hear your voice and say thank you.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“For well… you know. Not just that, for staying with me. It means a lot. Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Yes.”
“Great, I’ll call you. And Beth, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He said it again. And my reply… I think I meant it.
Back in my room, I touch my tender pussy. It feels so good – he felt so good. I close my eyes, remembering, then promptly snap them open. I’m drifting and I mustn’t. I can’t sleep. I daren’t. Where will I be when I wake? Back in twenty-twenty? I don’t want to go back. I’m not ready. Adrenaline pumping, I rummage through the contents of my room again, open every drawer, every cupboard, every notebook. I examine everything, absorbing every detail of my teenage life, memorising it all for when…
“I’m sorry, Jez,” I whisper.
Tomorrow’s date will never happen. I’m sure of it. Tears wet my cheeks as I realise I’ve seen him for the last time. I thump the bed. It’s not fair.
I fight sleep for as long as I can but tiredness eventually wins. My eyelids droop and I’ve no more strength to hold them open.
“Beth? Are you getting up?”
Sitting bolt upright, I gaze around. Oh my God! The walls are still papered with sunflowers and sunlight streams through the thin orange curtains. The envelope containing my ‘A’ level results sits on the vanity along with my handbag, yesterday’s clothes are crumpled on the floor. Christ, I’m still here.
I clutch my head as my eighteen-year-old face gawps at me from the mirror.
“What the hell?”
It’s real. It’s fucking real! Sleep hasn’t banished the ‘dream’ and I’m still in August nineteen eighty-nine. Yes! It’s too good to be true, yet here I am. By some miracle, I’ve gone back in time and have the chance to live my life over, do it better. I won’t marry that pig of an ex-husband, for starters.
My head hurts as the wider implications dawn on me. I’ve never been into sports, but I remember enough to make a fortune at the bookmakers. And what about world events? Bookies will bet on anything, right? The Berlin wall will fall this coming November; what odds will I get if I bet on that? The Conservatives will win at the next election but be beaten by Labour the one after that. My goodness, I know so much: the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami, 9/11, 6/6, the Paris attacks. Pretty much everything in 2020… I clutch my head, it hurts so badly.
And Jez… I can see him today, I can keep our date. Hell, he and I can stay together. Why not? I can travel while he retakes his exams, choose a University close to his. I’m free of ties, no money worries either, I’m—
I cry out as a stabbing pain sends me crumpling to the ground. The orange sunlight fades as the pain blinds me, my skin becomes clammy. I curl into a ball as the agony intensifies. The darkness expands, dissolving into a cold nothingness.
Something’s different: The bed’s soft, the pillows downy beneath my head. Brushed cotton covers nestle against my skin and the room’s in darkness. Stirring, I kick off the duvet and open the blinds. Bright sunlight floods the room, illuminating the awful beige walls and scuffed laminate floor. Gutted, I sink back onto the bed. The mirror on the opposite wall shows me a woman with laughter lines and greying hair. No…
It’s over. I’m back. I’ve never had a dream so lucid – and waking sickens me. So much for a second chance. I’m sorry, Jez. So sorry…
Reluctant to move, I lift my phone off the nightstand and login to Facebook. I want to see him, trace my fingers over his face and tell him I love him. I do love him. I type his name into the search box then stop, finger hovering over my friend’s list: Jeremy Williams. What? I didn’t friend him. Clicking on his profile, I hold the phone at arm’s length and stare, amazed.
Jez has the same profile picture – handsome, smiling – and he’s listed as single. But that’s all I recognise. Doctor Jeremy Williams attended University the year after me and subsequently specialised in orthopaedics. I trawl his timeline, staring at photos of his world-wide travels, his brand new BMW and beautiful ex-wife. Hmm… what happened to her?
I don’t understand. What’s going on?
An email alert interrupts my thoughts and, out of habit, I check it. There are eight unread messages from work. Eight? I read the newest first.
Are you okay? Why did you miss yesterday’s zoom meetings? Please call ASAP.
“I missed meetings? What meetings?” I mutter. Frowning, I check the date. My phone says it’s Friday, August the fourteenth but that can’t be right. It should be Thursday. “What the heck?”
My phone pings again. A notification from Messenger, this time. Now what? I tap the icon, my heart skipping when I see the name, Jez.
Dearest Beth, I’m so glad you got in contact, I do miss you. I must confess, I always thought of you as ‘the one that got away.’ Funny that, huh? I hope I’m not being forward, but would you like to meet up? It seems silly not to talk in person when I live so close. Dinner tonight? I know a great restaurant. What do you say?
“Oh, my God…” I pinch my arm hard and it hurts like hell. Then I read the message again and my smile widens.
Jerri
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